


Sweet & Sour

by azulaahai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Other, Stark Sisters, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 01:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13179609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azulaahai/pseuds/azulaahai
Summary: Someone sneaks around Winterfell in the middle of the night. Arya finds out who, resulting in lemon cake-related conversations, someone being caught in an undignified act, and a late night bonding session.





	Sweet & Sour

**Author's Note:**

> based on a request from @jonwargs on tumblr, asking for Stark sister bonding.

A slumbering darkness has made its way to Winterfell - the night is peaceful, silent thanks to the newly fallen snow that glistens in the silverblue light of the full moon. The castle courtyard lies deserted -

\- except for a tall, cloaked figure moving in the shadows. A guard on duty freezes when he sees it, but as the potential intruder steps into the moonlight and a glint of red can be seen beneath the hood of the cloak, he relaxes again. It’s no intruder.

Sansa hastens across the yard, trying to avoid looking over her shoulder like a thief in the night. She’s doing nothing wrong, she knows that. It’s hardly a crime for a lady to visit her own kitchens - at least not a very grave one.

Still, Sansa feels a wave of guilt wash over her as she sneaks into the kitchens, her feet knowing their way by now even in the dimness of the kitchen. She knows just in what box in what cupboard they are, the hidden golden treasures. When she takes the first bite and feels the delicious dough melt in her mouth, Sansa can’t help but giggle to herself. 

What would her mother say, if she saw her now? Lady of Winterfell in all but name, yet Sansa still sneaks into the kitchens almost every night to find her favourite sweet. Sansa’s giggles fade. The thought of her mother is as bittersweet as the lemon cakes themselves.

After just having taken the first bite of her second lemon cake for the evening - Sansa limits her self to at most two a night, at least - she is just beginning to consider how she can best cover up her tracks, when she hears the light, barely detectable sound of footsteps in the hallway outside.

Sansa freezes. Is it a guard, coming to investigate strange sounds from the kitchens? Another nightly visitor, hoping to steal some treats? Or … a foe in the dark, having followed her to where she would be at her most vulnerable. Sansa barely has time to curse herself for not putting a guard up outside the kitchens - it was absolutely foolish to avoid doing so just so that she would be able to continue her nightly meetings with the lemon cakes - before the door is flung open.

Sansa jumps, but it is neither an attacker nor a guard ready to bust her as a pastry thief. In the doorway stands Arya, looking rather amused as she looks Sansa over from top to toe. Sansa can feel herself blushing - she must make quite a sight - she spilled lemon cake on the front of her dress, and has made a little mess in the kitchen.

“Arya?” she says, fighting - and failing - to maintain an air of dignity. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.” Arya grins at her, teasingly, but not mockingly. Sansa tries to return the smile, mouth still half-full of lemon cake. “I was looking for you”, Arya continues, seemingly trying to keep from laughing at her. Sansa can’t blame her. “There’s been a raven. From Jon.”

“Oh.” Sansa tries to discreetly wipe her hands on her dress. It doesn’t go very well. “What does he write?”

“Don’t know yet. Waiting for you to come so we can find out.”

“How … uhm, how did you know where to, ehrm, find me?” Sansa asks, flustered, as she turns to put the box of lemon cakes back into its rightful place in the cupboard. She doesn’t need to look at her sister to know that Arya’s grinning again.

“I asked the guards. Apparently, you come here often?” Sansa’s cheeks heats again.

“They … did they know?” she manages to almost-whisper.

“That Ned Stark’s daughter is out of her bed most nights eating sweets? Yes. I’d say they know.”

“Oh. That’s … unfortunate.”

“I’m not sure I agree.”

“Shush, you.” Sansa’s not sure if she should be glad that her sister’s amused, or angry that she’s amused by Sansa’s own embarrassment. Perhaps a little bit of both. “Let’s go see what Jon wants, now.”

As she walks up to Arya and they begin walking towards the kitchen door, Arya leans into her sister, breathing in through her nose - sniffing.

“Is it …” Arya says, seemingly identifying the scent, “… lemon cakes? Still? All these years, and your one weakness is still lemon cakes?”

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.” Arya smiles again. “The dozens of guards who also know your little secret might tell someone, though. And I don’t think that can be blamed on me.” Sansa laughs at that. It’s good to laugh with someone - it’s been a while since the last time. The last time she laughed with Arya, of all people … Sansa can’t even remember it.

“Lemon cakes”, Arya mumbles once the laughter ebbs out, smiling, shaking her head. “Still, those bloody lemon cakes …”

***

The next evening when Sansa comes up the stairs to her chambers, having decided to put her nightly expeditions to the kitchens on hold for a while to restore her wounded reputation among the guards, there’s a package waiting outside her chamber door, with a note attached to it.

No signature. None needed.

“So as to avoid you further scandalising the guards …” is all the note says.

And when Sansa, grinning, brings the fabric-wrapped package into her chambers and unwraps it, she finds a box of lemon cakes inside. 

These are not exactly the same as the ones she usually devours in the kitchens, however - these cakes have been cut into even, delicate pieces, as if sliced by a sharp, thin blade.


End file.
